


welcome to the neighborhood

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, College Student Stiles Stilinski, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 02:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17337332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: Normally he'd be working at the window, with a clear view of his front yard, people-watching as he types the essay that he's supposed to hand in tomorrow. The one that he was meant to work on for the past week. However, there has been a distraction right outside his window. Or rather, across the street.





	welcome to the neighborhood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Multi Fandom Writing Challenge](https://multifandomwritingchallenge.tumblr.com) \- December prompt: "“I must have been an awful person in my past life.” (theme: dialogue prompts)

Stiles glances out of his window again, for the tenth time this morning. Then he sighs and walks away from it, rubbing his eyes and clenching his teeth as he walks across the room to where he temporarily set up his laptop. 

Normally he'd be working at the window, with a clear view of his front yard, people-watching as he types the essay that he's supposed to hand in tomorrow. The one that he was meant to work on for the past week. However, there has been a distraction right outside his window. Or rather, across the street. 

The neighborhood where he lives is a quiet one, the houses privately owned and the residents strictly the owners of said houses, with the exception of the small one that he and Scott live in. They're renting from—of all people—Scott's father, who's been trying to mend his relationship with Scott and the house is one of the offerings. Scott had been reluctant to accept it until Stiles pointed out how much quieter it would be compared to dorms and how much cheaper if he played his cards right. 

It was a delight living here for the past two years, most of their neighbors lovely people who have been supplying them with food and the occasional fix of Stiles's Jeep—one of them is a mechanic—while Scott and Stiles offered grass mowing and car washing services in return. 

Only one house had been unoccupied, according to Rafael for years before the boys moved in, and it's the one right across the street. The only movement in the house was an occasional visit from a cleaning service and a gardener who were keeping the house in a habitable state despite their being no actual inhabitants. That changed almost exactly a week ago, when a black Camaro pulled up, followed by a moving van that unloaded several boxes into the driveway. Stiles was just on his way out then, so he didn't see their new neighbor until the next morning. 

At 7am sharp, while Stiles was stumbling out of the door and into his Jeep so he'd get to a class on time, the front door across the street opened and out walked... Stiles's wildest dream and his worst nightmare all rolled into one man. Who was obviously heading out for a jog, if his skin-tight shorts, loose tank top and trainers were anything to go by. He didn't say hello, didn't seem to even acknowledge Stiles's presence and he set off into a run, leaving Stiles watching his tanned back and the flashes of a black tattoo on the man's back. Stiles absolutely did not glance below the man's waist to see the curve of his delightfully bubbly ass. 

That would have been extremely rude. 

It's also why he's sitting on the couch in the living room now, curled into a slightly uncomfortable position, instead of taking advantage of the perfectly positioned desk and the chair that makes hours spent in it seem like nothing. 

Because the desk is right at the front window. The same window that faces the house across the street. And while it's not 7am—their new neighbor is punctual with his morning jogs—it seems that it's perfect lawn-mowing time instead. Just as it was car-washing time the day before, house-painting time a few days earlier, window-washing time another afternoon. There's been something every single day, as if the man across the street knew when Stiles had to be sitting at his desk and having the perfect view of his muscled back and wide shoulders, the dark swirls of the tattoo on his back—a triskelion, as Stiles found out on the window-washing day when tank tops were apparently unnecessary—and the swell of his ass whenever he bent over. 

"I must have been an awful person in my past life," Stiles mumbles to himself, the empty house offering no sound of consolation. 

It's been the longest week, catching glimpses of their new neighbor no matter how much Stiles tried not to. He didn't even know the man's name—Rafael only remembered that there used to be a family years ago, then he mentioned something about a fire and how the house was rebuilt—but he did see the tall and beautiful woman who made an appearance one of the mornings. She'd been in casual clothes and kissed the man's cheek as he left for his jog, then she got into a shiny Jeep—a model way newer than Stiles's—and drove off. 

"No wonder he's taken," Stiles muttered then, any dreams of a meet-cute with the potential of getting to know the man in every way possible dashed into smithereens. 

He's about to give up on the essay and grab himself something to drink when he hears the rumbling of Scott's bike. 

_Dinner time_ , Stiles thinks.

He sets down the laptop and heads towards the kitchen, figuring that now that Scott's home, they might as well figure out something to eat. Stiles is looking at an all-nighter the way his essay is going, so he's going to need the energy. His head is stuck in the chest freezer as he rummages through whatever they have that's easy enough to make when the voices from the front door carry all the way to his ears. 

"It's not a bother at all," Scott says to someone who's obviously coming into the house with him. "We should have that spare bulb. Anytime you need anything man, just knock. Stiles is home most of the evenings, I'm home in the mornings, one of us is bound to be around."

"What's a Stiles?" 

It's a soft voice, one that Stiles doesn't recognize, but a vague sense of panic washes over him. He knows all their other neighbors by now and since this is someone new, it can only mean...

"Hey Stiles, where are you?" Scott calls out from the living room when he finds it empty. "Come meet our new neighbor Derek!” Then he adds more quietly, clearly to Derek, their neighbor: "Stiles is my housemate and best friend." 

"Is he the one who owns the death-trap Jeep?" Derek asks, amusement ringing through his voice. 

"Yeah, it's one he had since he learned to drive," Scott says, then adds something more quietly.

Stiles figures it's the fact that the Jeep used to belong to his mom, if the acknowledging hum from Derek is anything to go by. Scott calls his name again and Stiles hisses when he startles and hits the back of his head on the chest freezer's lid. 

"In the kitchen," he replies just so Scott doesn't call him again. 

The thing is though, he's been home all afternoon, trying to write his essay. And his studying clothes are very much comfort over style, so he's in his pajama bottoms—the soft and worn out ones—and a T-shirt that has more holes and stains than fabric. Which is not really the best first impression he wanted to make on their hot new neighbor. Then again, said neighbor already noticed Stiles's old Jeep and clearly had reservations about its functionality or looks or whatever, Stiles doesn't care. He loves Roscoe and would go to bat for him, especially to snobby owners of shiny Camaros who—

He doesn't get to finish the thought because Scott strolls into the kitchen with Derek right behind him, still in his sweaty and loose tank top and the running shorts that have been driving Stiles to distraction. Who even wears running shorts to mow the lawn? Stiles has been asking himself that question every time he glanced out of the window. 

"Hey, Stiles, this is our new neighbor from across the road, Derek," Scott says with his usual cheerful demeanor. "Derek, this is my housemate Stiles." 

"Hey," Stiles says, glad that he managed to at least open his mouth without making a complete idiot of himself. 

Then again, the day's not over yet. 

"Hey," Derek replies, eyes roaming up and down Stiles's body, eyebrow rising as he takes in the state of his clothes. 

Stiles can't help it, he returns the same look to Derek, pointedly looking at the clothes he is wearing. To mow the lawn. Because what the hell. 

"Derek's lightbulb in the garage blew, so I offered one of our spares," Scott says, glancing between the two of them as they continue their glaring stand-off. "Are they still in the hall cupboard?"

It's only reluctantly and with yet another pointed glare at Derek that Stiles looks away and turns to Scott instead. 

"No, the shelf in the garage, above the washing machine,” he says. "Remember your dad moved all that crap so we had space in the hall?"

"Right, yeah," Scott replies, then he glances at Derek. "I'll be back in a moment." 

Then he looks at Stiles and gives him his patent _what are you doing?_ look. Stiles knows that one, it's been a constant presence in his life throughout high school, usually when he was lying to his father about something. He disappears before Stiles can—even just nonverbally—defend himself. 

And it's Derek and Stiles in the kitchen, alone. With Derek and his tank top and his dark hair and big expressive eyebrows and tanned skin and _why is Stiles even looking into his eyes like a creep and trying to figure out what color they are?_

"So, uh, you all moved in?" 

It's the only question he can think of, most of his mind spinning around the fact that the hot neighbor whom Stiles thought was completely unapproachable is now in his kitchen and probably judging Stiles's dress sense. For a good reason, really, not that Stiles is about to admit that out loud. 

"Yeah," Derek says, then he smiles and glances towards the window. 

_Oh my god bunny teeth!_  Stiles’s mind supplies very unhelpfully when his eyes land on Derek's smiling mouth. 

"My sister will probably say that my interior design skills are severely lacking and she'll redo everything," Derek keeps talking, "but the house is livable now, at least."

"Sister?" 

Stiles's mind is reeling from the lightness of Derek's tone, such a a contrast to the distant man he seemed to be whenever Stiles saw him heading out for his runs in the mornings. 

"I think you might have seen her a few days ago," Derek says, frowning. "You were headed to... school? Work?"

"School, yeah," Stiles says, then his brain catches up. "That was your sister? And I didn't think you noticed me, like, ever." 

"Yeah, that was Laura. My older sister, as she likes to point out frequently, though it's only by a few minutes," Derek says, sounding a little grumbly, like siblings tend to be about each other.

Stiles would know, that's been his relationship with Scott even before their parents started dating and made their brotherhood official. There's fondness in Derek's tone though and Stiles remembers the news he saw about the fire at their house and the amount of casualties that there were. If his internal math is right, Laura is the only family Derek has left. 

"I did notice you," Derek says. "At the risk of sounding creepy, you have classes—" he pauses and there's the most adorable blush rising in his cheeks and down his chest, "—on Tuesday and Wednesday morning. And you tend to be barely awake that early in the morning. You probably shouldn't be driving like that."

"I've been driving since I was fifteen, I'm good," Stiles says defensively. "And not everyone is up and jogging at an ungodly hour like that. Every day."

Oh shit, Stiles thinks, realizing that Derek only knew about the mornings when Stiles was actually outside and leaving his house at the same time as Derek was heading out for his run. But now he knows that Stiles is aware that the runs are daily. Which he clearly realized, if the way his eyebrow shoots up is any indication. 

"Have you been driving that Jeep since you got your license?” Derek asks instead, then he pauses and narrows his eyes. "You're Mrs Stilinski's kid."

Stiles's eyes widen in surprise because he hasn't heard his mom being referred to that way in years. Since before she died, really, because she hadn't been teaching for the last few years. 

"You knew her?" 

"She was my year's homeroom teacher, when I was in Beacon Hills," Derek says quietly. 

"Oh. And yeah, I've been driving Roscoe from the first day I was allowed to," Stiles says, not wanting to dwell too long on the past and memories that probably aren't pleasant for either him or Derek. 

"Does it still run on duct tape and prayers?" Derek asks, smirking. 

"How do you know about that?" 

"From her, actually," Derek tells him. "She used to refuse any help from the guys who were fixing their own cars and offered to look at it. Said getting it fixed properly would ruin the car's integrity."

Stiles smirks to himself and feels a pang in his chest accompanied by fondness.

"That sounds like Mom," he says, quietly. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," Derek says then, just as quietly. "She was my favorite teacher." 

Stiles nods. There's not much else he can say—it's been years since his mom died and he still gets the occasional comment like Derek's, from people who remember her—and he's a little thrown by the link that Derek has to Stiles's past. But then he can't help it, his curiosity too strong to just let it go.

"It's weird, I didn't realize there was anyone in the area who knew Beacon Hills," he tells Derek. "Just Scott and I. And Rafa," he adds, then explains when Derek's eyebrow lifts in confusion. "Scott's Dad. He owns this place, we're just renting." 

"Ah. Not many renters in the area, usually," Derek remarks. "We moved here before I finished high school. Mom's job pulled her out." 

Stiles doesn't ask about her. Or about the fire. It's not a "just getting to know you" conversation, despite the fact that they've already touched on Stiles's loss of a parent. 

"So, you'll be here for another few years?" Derek asks then. 

"Two more, probably, depending on how college goes," Stiles replies. "Scott's in vet school, so he'll stick around." 

"You won't?" 

"Depends on which academy I get into," Stiles says, then realizes that he needs to elaborate. "Police academy. Following in Dad's footsteps, hopefully. Or at least a similar direction. Might be Quantico, for all I know."

"High hopes," Derek says, smiling. "So, will it be weird to ask you out?" 

Stiles's mind screeches to a halt. 

"What?"

"Coffee. Maybe dinner, if you'd be up for it," Derek says, like he didn't just completely blow Stiles's mind. "If it's not something you want to do, forget it. And I hope it won't make things awkward."

"Only if you don't really mean it," Stiles says. "You're not like, pulling my leg because you know that I noticed you beyond what's casual and normal."

"Why are you talking about _normal_?" Scott asks, just walking into the kitchen. "That can't be about you." 

Stiles groans in frustration. Like it's not bad enough that his first few impressions were less than stellar, Scott's now driving the stake into an already shaky image. Which Derek obviously didn't hate. Until now. 

"Normal is overrated anyway," Derek says and grins. "So, coffee?"

"Oh no, did I walk into something?" Scott asks, looking alarmed and apologetic. "Here's the lightbulb, don't mind me, I'll just go... park the bike or something." 

Stiles watches his best friend stumble out of the kitchen and towards the already perfectly parked bike outside—Stiles knows this because he's never seen Scott not be careful with it—leaving Derek and Stiles there, in awkward silence. That doesn't last too long though. 

"So, coffee," Stiles says, forgetting to make it a question. 

"If you want to," Derek tells him and he looks hesitant and like he's bracing himself for a rejection. 

Which makes zero sense at all, because who would refuse an offer like that? Not Stiles. 

"That would be great," Stiles says, maybe a little too fast. 

He's way past trying to look like a regular and well-adjusted person though. All things considered, it's pretty pointless anyway. 

"Tomorrow? Or is that too soon?" Derek asks, his hesitation turning into a hopeful expression.

"I want to say yes. I really do," Stiles tells him, apologetic. "But I have this essay due tomorrow and I'm pretty sure that I'll need an all-nighter to finish it because I got nothing done this afternoon."

_Since you were outside, mowing the lawn and being a distraction_ , Stiles doesn't say. 

"Well, good luck with that and... let me know when you're free?" 

"I know where you live," Stiles blurts out, then he feels his cheeks heat up. "I mean, in a completely non-stalkery and non-creepy way, because you're right across the street and I see you all the time. Because you're always outside, doing things."

Derek chuckles. 

"I'll see you soon," he says. "Maybe in the morning? Around seven?" 

Then he walks out of the kitchen while Stiles is still looking at him with an open mouth and wide eyes. 

—

They get coffee the next day, when Stiles stumbles to Derek's front door right after he gets home from handing in his essay. He's barely awake, his hair looks like a mess and his clothes are only a step above what he was wearing when they first met properly. But there's the promise of coffee and getting to look into Derek's eyes and well, Stiles's sleep-deprived brain thinks it's the best idea ever.

It turns out that Derek doesn't disagree. 

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://froggydarren.tumblr.com/) || [my sterek fic tumblr](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/)


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